


Art Deco

by jeanlouisefinch



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alternate Universe - Art School, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Fluff, Light Angst, Pining
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-17
Updated: 2019-07-17
Packaged: 2020-06-27 16:15:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,113
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19794466
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jeanlouisefinch/pseuds/jeanlouisefinch
Summary: Cullen Rutherford is in the final throes of his graduate art program, but his professors criticize his attention to detail and lack of imagination. On a whim, he takes a figure drawing class, where he encounters Moira Trevelyan, a free-spirited but mysterious woman.





	Art Deco

Sticking the end of a paintbrush in his mouth, Cullen chewed on the tip. It was jagged from countless late night studio sessions, abused by his incessant nibbling. He had more brushes than he could count, but this one—black hog bristle—was a favorite of his. Cullen reserved it for the rare occasion in which he painted with oils, feeling more like Michaelangelo than a broke college student. 

The final throes of his graduate art program held him in its clutches. Though he was glad to be rid of the reins of university, Cullen knew he would miss the structure and rigidity of a course schedule. He was more than capable of managing his own time, but it was far easier to block out time for class rather than build hours from the ground up. 

The great beast of his twenties were his portfolios, in which he staked hundreds of swords—rather, pieces of artwork—to be critiqued by boards of artists with far more experience and talent than himself. He offered up his heart to them and was met with both compliment and criticism. Cullen’s attention to detail was extraordinary: every brush stroke deliberate and planned; however, his perfectionism often hindered his ability to experiment and branch beyond what was normative. It was his biggest hurdle: one with which he was unsure how to tackle. 

Determined to be as well-rounded as possible, Cullen pondered the best way to explore beyond his usual art style. It was difficult to be abstract when he favored the concrete. 

Standing in line at Starbucks, waiting on his usual mid-afternoon pick-me-up, Cullen smiled at his phone. He had expressed his thoughts to his best friends, Josephine and Leliana, and they tossed about ideas in their group chat: “The Advisors.” 

> _Leliana:_ i think u should ask one of your profs for ideas
> 
> _Josephine:_ Yeah they prob have suggestions. I bet students come to them all the time looking for inspiration
> 
> _Cullen:_ I feel kind of dumb going to them for help at this point in my career you know?
> 
> _Leliana:_ career?????? you didnt even graduate yet my dude
> 
> _Josephine:_ wait!!!! Yvette said she heard about some nudey nudes… like night classes or something. You should go to that
> 
> _Cullen:_ Not really my style Josie
> 
> _Leliana:_ um isn’t that the point?
> 
> _Josephine:_ Try it out!! You might like it ;)
> 
> _Cullen:_ Why did i come to you guys for help
> 
> _Leliana:_ they don’t call us the advisors for nothing
> 
> _Josephine:_ <3

Texting Josephine individually, Cullen received the information for the night class. He hadn’t thought about doing an anatomy study because frankly it didn’t make much sense. Cullen was supposed to reach into the ether for the abstract, but what was more concrete than a naked human body?

Stepping into the autumn afternoon, Cullen sipped his coffee. The steam soothed his chilly nose and curled around inside his lungs, filling his body with a pleasant warmth. He tugged his beanie down over his ears and tightened his scarf around his neck. 

Striding down the sidewalk, Cullen argued with himself. Should he go to his professors to seek inspiration, or should he listen to his advisors and attend the night class? Though no older or wiser than he, the girls seemed to know exactly what to tell him at exactly the right time. Cullen never doubted that they had his best interests at heart, even though they often showed their affection in dubious (albeit well-intentioned) ways. 

Figuring he had nothing left to lose, Cullen settled on the night class. If the lightning strike of inspiration did not fry him on the spot later tonight, then he would seek out his most trusted professors next week. He typed the emails in his head, trying to word them in a way that didn’t sound as pathetic as they felt. What kind of artist was he if he couldn’t find inspiration on his own? He doubted that Leonardo da Vinci ever felt like this. 

Later that evening, Cullen chewed the tip of his hog bristle brush, awaiting the entrance of their model. There was no need for paintbrushes, as this was merely a sketch session, but Cullen kept the brush tucked behind his ear: a comfort object as he stepped outside his realm of normality. 

The room was filled with people from all different walks of life: students, senior citizens, deviants, you name it. Some chatted amongst themselves, others poured over their phones, and the final few (such as Cullen) simply stared into space—so lost in thought that they only snapped back to attention when their model stepped into the center of the room. 

“Hey, guys,” the model said, waving her hand and turning on her heel to greet everyone. “My name’s Moira. For anyone who doesn’t know, I’ll tell you a little bit about how this works. We do a series of short poses, like a minute each, then we do the long poses.” Moira locked eyes with Cullen as she spoke, sending a chill down his spine. She grinned and glanced away. “If you don’t finish a pose, don’t worry about it. It’s all about getting a feel for what you’re seeing and trying to transfer it to paper.” 

Then she dropped her robe. 

Moira was a woman with long silver hair, her dark roots betraying her secret. She was tall, her lean body twisting and curving as she changed her poses every few minutes. Moira extended her back, leaned on one leg, placed a hand on her hip, and grinned. She was absolutely gorgeous, and she knew it. 

The scratching of graphite pencils filled the studio. Cullen sketched Moira with a fury, his hand flying over the paper to capture every feature of her body before she switched poses. Detailing her anatomy was easy, and he feared that he was wasting his time… but he could not peel his eyes away from the model. 

Moira gushed confidence like water over a fall. As she assumed her first long pose, she sat on a chair, leaning backward and pumping out her chest with pride. She arched her swan-like neck and tossed her long white hair over her shoulder. Moira did not let the scars marring the right side of her face hinder her tenacity, and Cullen respected her for it. 

Cullen poured over his work, his zealous dedication to every pencil mark hampering his speed. Just as he got one sketch the way he wanted it, Moira was already moving onto a different pose. Recalling her comforting words of “don’t worry about it,” Cullen instead focused on a single portrait. He outlined her figure, noting the muscle definition of Moira’s thighs and calves and dramatic curves of her pelvis, the gentle slope of her stomach and pronounced biceps. 

_I wonder if she’s an athlete,_ Cullen wondered to himself as he drew her shoulders. _She’s got the most amazing body I’ve ever seen—_ He shook his head, brushing droplets of sweat away from his brow with the back of his sweater sleeve. Why was he thinking like this? Has all professionalism gone out the window at first sight of a beautiful woman?

Cullen dared a glance around the room and was disappointed that everyone was concentrating a lot harder than he was. He narrowed his blond brows. Was no one as impressed with Moira as he was? That almost seemed blasphemous. 

Time passed them by quicker than Cullen wanted, and soon enough, Moira pulled on her robe and bid everyone a good night. “I’ll be back next week if anyone is interested!” She blew kisses before disappearing into the back to retrieve her things. 

Cullen packed his supplies in a daze, fascinated with Moira: her long white hair and mysterious facial scars hinting at a troubled past. Why was she so interesting? Cullen knew nothing about her, but he could not wait until next week, so he could see her again. She seemed so sure of herself, like she knew exactly what to do in life. Perhaps he envied that carefree attitude as he stared his graduation in the face with somewhat apprehensive eyes. 

_If anything were to happen between us, it would probably just end up being another stringless one night stand,_ he thought to himself. 

Shocked at his own inner desires, Cullen shook his head again, twisting his beanie in his hands as he stepped outside into the gusty October night. 

Though she meant it to help, Josephine had only caused him more inner turmoil by recommending the figure drawing session. Inspiration had not struck him like an angry god, and now he was infatuated with the model. He opened the group chat and tapped his thumbs against the screen. 

> _Cullen:_ Drinks at my place guys… something i gotta tell you
> 
> _Josephine:_ Oh no… did I do bad??
> 
> _Cullen:_ Kinda?
> 
> _Leliana:_ HA

The three of them gathered together in Cullen’s studio apartment, draped among the sofas with feet in the air and drinks in hand. The girls munched on popcorn as Cullen bared his delicate soul. 

“That’s it?” Leliana whined, draining her glass and pouring herself some more. “So you want to smash the model. I bet that happens all the time.” She chuckled at her own rude comment and tossed a piece of popcorn into her mouth. “The models are used to that shit. I imagine most of their—” she paused to think of the term she wanted, “—suitors—are a lot uglier than you. The only action they get is probably looking at naked people during figure drawing.” She wagged a finger at him. “Now, if you joined a frat, you’d be drowning in—”

Josephine tried to hide her smirk as Cullen buried his face into his hands. “You’re not helping.”

Leliana shrugged and emptied her third drink. “I’m only saying what’s true.” She slammed her glass down on the coffee table, then regarded it with sleepy eyes. “You mind if I crash here?”

Cullen glared at Leliana through his fingers. “Yeah, sure, whatever, but you’re getting the sofa.” 

She snorted and flipped around, turning her back on her friends. “Don’t bother me. Goodnight, my beauties.” Before long, the sound of her breathing slowed down, indicating that she was asleep. 

Disgusted, Cullen turned to Josephine, hoping to get a more satisfactory answer. “What should I do, Josie?”

Josephine was pensive for a moment, swirling her wine around. She tucked a strand of black hair behind her ear. “Did you say anything to her afterward?”

“No,” Cullen replied, rubbing the back of his neck. “I left in a big hurry, like a little kid realizing his first crush. I guess I feel a little—embarrassed, you know? I’m supposed to be a professional, but I get all flustered over a nude woman?”

She set her glass down, still half full of white wine. “Do you think it’s possible you’ve—” Josephine hesitated, choosing her words carefully, “—spent too much time by yourself?” Seeing the look of absolute dejection on his face, she quickly added, “I don’t mean that you’re a loser or anything. You’ve got friends, and you’re not a hermit—well, maybe a little bit, but that’s not the point. What I’m trying to say is that you put so much time into your work that you forget to put time into here too.” Josephine placed a hand over her heart, indicating the touch-starved hole in his own. 

Josephine was right—of course she was right—but how could Cullen admit his own personal neglect so openly? He trusted Josephine with all his secrets, but fessing up to his lack of self-care was shameful. 

The bare bones truth of the matter was that Cullen placed his work before himself, and sometimes he suffered for it. 

During the first year of his graduate studies, he had a health scare that almost forced him to withdraw from the program—but of course, he worked through that too. Cullen recognized that he would eventually run himself into the ground someday, but that day was not today, and he was determined to push forward—even if that put him into an early grave. 

His dire work ethic strained his relationship with his family as well. He hardly spoke to his parents or siblings since he left for New York to pursue his degree. Even his sister Mia, his closest friend before Leliana and Josephine, fell out of touch with him, unable to keep up with his sporadic messages of “Yes, I’m still alive.” After all, she had her own life to live, and so did he. 

It had become a sad reality that Cullen would be married to his work, but it was a truth he had come to accept over the years. He did not know how to take a break. 

To appease his friend, Cullen replied, “I know, Josie, I know.” He steepled his hands in front of his nose, at a loss. “If I can work up the nerve, maybe I’ll talk to her.” 

But Cullen did not work up the nerve to talk to her. 

The pattern continued, with mysterious Moira bearing her naked body before the art class and Cullen pouring over his easel, his frantic gaze drinking in her every detail. No one else seemed to have much of a reaction to her, just Cullen. Perhaps there was something wrong with him. Was he just lonely, longing for a warm body to sleep beside, only if for a night?

The semester loomed to a close as December crept over the horizon, and still Cullen lacked the inspiration he needed for his exhibition. If he didn’t come up with an idea soon, he doubted his instructors would give him very high marks regarding his creativity. There was only so much room for ordinary. 

The last lesson of figure drawing made him apprehensive—and sad. Cullen had one more chance to make a connection with this model, Moira Trevelyan, or else she would be gone forever—vanishing into the ether of New York City, leaving behind only strands of white hair and unanswered questions. 

A small glimmer of hope lifted his spirits: a possible project for which Moira would be perfect. Cullen tried to tell himself that his interest was purely professional, but that wasn’t entirely honest. He wanted to see more of her, listen to her speak, learn her hopes and fears. His infatuation ruled his conscious mind, and he prayed that breaking the ice would soothe his curiosity. 

After the session was over, Cullen quickly packed his things and waited outside, turning up his collar against the winter cold. When the familiar crop of white hair emerged from the studio, Cullen called out, “Hey, Moira!”

Moira paused, adjusting her hat, spinning on her heel to see who beckoned her. She approached him, flashing him a dazzling smile. “Hey, what’s up?”

Cullen squeezed his hands and glanced at the ground, then reminded himself to be professional. He forced his gaze to her face, but it was difficult to look into her blue eyes without blushing. “My name’s Cullen. I uh—I’m finishing my grad program next semester, and I was wondering—I was wondering if you wanted to be part of my exhibition.” 

Clearly having expected far worse, Moira seemed taken aback by his request, almost flattered. “You want me to be part of your exhibition, really?” 

Cullen shoved his hands into his pockets, aware that he twisted them when he was nervous. “Yeah, I mean, you did such a good job modeling for me—I mean, the class!” He shut his eyes and wished to melt on the spot like the Wicked Witch of the West. His cheeks flushed pink, but not from the winter wind. 

Moira hid her amusement well. She cocked her head to the side, scrutinizing his sincerity. They made eye contact, and Moira bit her lip and tucked a strand of white hair behind her ear. She decided to play along. “What kind of work you thinking?”

“I’m honestly not sure yet,” Cullen admitted, rubbing the back of his neck, damning himself for the Freudian slip. “My professors say I need to think more abstractly, but I don’t know how. I’ve been brainstorming all semester, and the best I can come up with is some kind of ‘Human Beauty’ project, which has got to be the most cliché thing of all time.” 

Moira chuckled at this. “Well, according to you, thinking outside the box isn’t your strong suit. I’m sure we can come up with something.” She tugged her phone out her jacket pocket. “I’m in.” She pushed her phone into Cullen’s palm and held out her hand for his. 

Alarmed at the ease of the process, Cullen entered his contact information into her phone. The screen was cracked six ways from Sunday, but this somehow made sense for a person like Moira—Cullen couldn’t explain why. 

Upon noticing his concern over the screen, Moira said, “I dropped it during the March for Our Lives last year.”

Handing her phone back, Cullen cocked an eyebrow. “You were there?”

Moira bundled up her coat and braced herself against the cold. “Yeah, it was—it was something else.” 

“Thank you for doing this for me, Moira.” 

“Don’t thank me, not yet,” she replied. “Not until you get glowing reviews on your exhibition.” She disappeared into the late night fog, going gentle into that good night. 

Wheeling around, Cullen walked home, texting “The Advisors.” 

> _Cullen:_ I did it… 
> 
> _Leliana:_ did what
> 
> _Josephine:_ You’re so stupid
> 
> _Leliana:_ i honest to god have no idea what youre talkin about
> 
> _Leliana:_ WAIT OH SHIT
> 
> _Leliana:_ yeah am stoopid. so what happened
> 
> _Josephine:_ Yeah spill the beans!!!
> 
> _Cullen:_ I asked her if she would help with my exhibition and she said yes
> 
> _Josephine:_ And…?
> 
> _Cullen:_ That’s it?
> 
> _Leliana:_ were there any coy glances? maybe a wink? a subtle kiss perhaps?
> 
> _Cullen:_ I need to be professional Leliana
> 
> _Leliana:_ what about that wouldnt be professional
> 
> _Josephine:_ Do you know what the project is gonna be
> 
> _Cullen:_ Still haven’t worked out that detail yet
> 
> _Leliana:_ make it a little more obvious you wanna smash next time ;)
> 
> _Cullen:_ I regret becoming your friend 
> 
> _Josephine:_ Keep us posted good luck!!! <3

Locking the door behind him, Cullen collapsed at his desk, tossing his beanie aside and raking his fingers through his hair. He felt foolish for approaching Moira. How could he ask her to help him when he didn’t even know what he needed help with? Cullen had no plan, no inkling what he even wanted her to do. 

This is what happened when he thought with his crotch instead of his brain. 


End file.
